Xepherial started down the warp-cooked plasteel corridor, his methodic march mimicking gummed workings of his dulled wit. His body was hot with the energies of his accelerated healing processes which raced his metabolism, causing him to break out in a fevered sweat inside his compromised armor. Finally, he was alone again and able to devote an iota of his consciousness to grasping at the fading memories of his prime directive. Who was he? He was Xepherial, Dark Angel, one of the Imperial legionaries, son of the Lion, native of Caliban. Yet so much of this meant so little in present times. His legion was gone. His world, gone. His chapter master, Luther, his primarch... all gone. And what of the Emperor? As Xepherial walked, listening to the lurch of the hull and the cacophony of shouts and stamping and weaponfire, he tried to envision that esoteric being who had always been so far away. Memories resurfaced at the sounds of battle around him, and he recalled his last moments before the very world itself broke under his feet, and reality itself twisted and ripped apart things that should not have been physically able to rip. Had this Emperor been responsible for that? Had he betrayed them, those who were born on Caliban? Or had it been the Lion himself? The very thought was painful, and Xepherial's mind rebelled at persuing this train any further. It didn't matter. He'd hunt down the answers he sought and deserved until he either found them or perished in the attempt. For now, he had to make sure this Imperial ship survived to carry him onward to that end. 

He had been headed in the direction of Oskar and the escaped convicts when Xepherial suddenly felt what could only be described as an intrusion on his mind. Words jumped in there without his consent and spoke to him regardless of whether or not he had wated to hear it, and this struck a spark of fury within the altered astartes. He knew right away that the message was a psychic delivery despite the wondrous presentation. The Legion of Caliban had had its own librarians, yet they would never have dared such disrespect. His lip curled and he saw the image of a pathetic supplicant serving as messenger. 

"My companion? Scion? ..." Xepherial growled as he realized the sycophantic psyker could hear everything he thought. He spoke aloud. "Get out of my mind witch, or I will make you suffer before I kill you. The prophecy is a lie. I'll find my OWN answers even if I have to go to Terra myself!" Xepherial was furious, far more angry than he would have been had his humors been at all balanced. His mental slowness sought to betray him as his desire to kill and wreck havoc threatened to overcome his clarity and patience.